Mine
by Rostand
Summary: Garibaldi's stalking Lennier. Lennier is tolerating it.


Mine Mine 

He doesn't know that I watch him like this. I can't help it, really. I just like to see him, to watch him. To watch over him. He weaves his way deftly through the clinging throng, his crowned head bowed. He navigates by ankles - I wonder how he avoids child-bearing hips. He's always silent in public, so quiet. He isn't quiet. I know how to make him scream, make him cry out, make his head rear up, hold it proudly. I can make him whimper my name as my hands roam all over him, over his soft, pliant, perfect body. His eyes are downcast as he avoids the ankles, reluctant to look up. His eyes have looked up at me, glazed with lust, huge and dark, huge enough to drown in. 

I drift casually from my post, exchange a few words with a Centauri. He doesn't know I'm stalking him, my prey. My willing prey. My very willing pray. Books and covers, so they say. Who knew what lurked beneath a cleric's robe, what passion, what wit, what humour. Mine. All mine. 

From stall to stall I wander, but my thoughts aren't here. They're somewhere far south. Tonight, perhaps, I'd introduce him to one of my personal fantasies. He'd probably just give me some talk on how Minbari don't bathe, some exfoliating thing they do. I've got a perfectly good real-water shower and I intend to use it. I doubt he'll have many objections when I have him pinned to the tile, hot water running down the length of our bodies, soap involved in interesting ways . . . 

I lick my lips. Definitely tonight. He's always up for some . . . cultural exchange. I've yet to crack the Minbari Kama Sutra. I know there is one. He's just holding out on me. 

Pretend to inspect a flower stall as he stops for a drink. Not that he ever actually drinks. Vir joins him a moment later. Commisserating over the travails of being an attache, no doubt. What's that fluttering deep in my stomach? Jealousy? Naw, it couldn't be. Not over a moon-faced assassin of joy. 

Hey, hands off my Lennier. He's my Minbari. No touchy. 

But he glances up, sees me across the concourse. I've been glaring. He'll know. But then he smiles, just a little bit, just for me, and I realise something. 

I'm his, too. 

I know he watches me. He tries to be cunning about it, and in his own mind he wins. It's a game I allow him to play, an illusion I allow him to keep. A Minbari never lies; he just hasn't asked. It's rather charming, actually. Never have I been pursued with such ferver. I did not expect this. Now I know this is the way of humans, but before . . . 

The first time Michael approached me, I did not resist. I was curious, yes, and found him somewhat attractive. I thought things were going well when he abruptly drew back, asked me what was wrong. A Minbari lives to serve, but he did not want my service. Or my obedience. This was a hard lesson to learn, and caused us both much pain. I am wiser now, and I know what is. I wish to please Michael; he wishes to please me. This is what pleases us both. 

He is strange in his expectations. Never once has he taken my affection - even me - for granted. His every word and action tell me this. But what he does take for granted is this. The feeling I get when I'm around him, the quiet joy his very presence brings. How happy I can be, because of one person. I never thought such a thing could exist. I do not know how to tell him this; I do not know if this requires words. Maybe touch is enough. 

Touch. The things he can do with his touch. I came to Babylon 5 fresh from the Temple; I have never known a woman intimately. I do not know if this is normal, the things he can do with his hands. I do not know a lot - but I am learning. His groans and moans tell me as such, the way his solid, hairy body strains over mine, the twitch and play of muscles beneath his swarthy skin. His body amazes me. Heavy bone and heavy muscle, and hair everywhere. The way it whispers over my skin is strangely erotic, startling in its intimacy. The thing he calls 'stubble' amuses me to no end. I love the surprises, the generosities of his body. 

I love the way jealousy flares in his eyes as Vir's hand pats mine. They say, "He's mine." 

And I don't mind. 

**FIN**


End file.
